


Glass Walls Between Us

by rainbowpetals (necessarymistakes)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: (i'm drawing from this concept to set up this world), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Music Video: MAMA (EXO), POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 11:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20446238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necessarymistakes/pseuds/rainbowpetals
Summary: It has been a long journey to get here, but on their last night together, despite all the heartbreak, Chanyeol doesn’t regret anything because he gets to hold Jongin like this.





	Glass Walls Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Okaaaay. This fic has been a long time coming. Wow, I can't believe I'm finally posting it!!! I'm so excited. 
> 
> There are a few things I should say now that I am here. This is my first fic in the EXO fandom, and the first fic I've written in a long time. I'm so proud of it. It's definitely something I've been wanting to read for awhile: something cute, angsty (but not a lot), and full of love. I hope everyone who gives it a shot, enjoys it. ^^ Especially, you, Noor. Your enthusiasm and love for this ship is what made me want to add something to this ficdom. I hope you like it a tiny bit. Also, Nigu, I've fallen in love with your love for ChanKai and its motivated me to continue. I wanted both of you to know that. 
> 
> Before I thank the village that made this fic possible, I want to say that I first thought of this fic when I listened to Taemin's "Soldier" when it first came out. Yes, that's how long I've been thinking and working on it. And, although this fic is nowhere as sad as that song, I just wanted everyone to know that this fic was just supposed to be only about their last night together before Jongin went off to the military ("the Guard"), not whatever this monster has turned out to be. How did it even get this big?
> 
> Now, I would never have gotten this far if everyone around me had not been supportive of this project. This is a long list so hold on tight. Thank you, [Clo](/users/mockturtletale/), for every enthusiastic and helpful comment at the beginning of this process. I would never had written a second and third draft without you! Thank you to my baby sis! Your confidence in me and your love for what I do have pushed me forward so many times. Thank you for taking the time to read the various drafts I asked you to. I love you!! Also, I want to thank my friend N, who's not part of any fandoms, but without your insight on the boys and who they are outside of their relationship, I'd never would have given it a lot of thought! Thank you saying for saying you found this verse soft!! Thank you to [Steph](/users/fannyann/), for reading it and asking me questions about the world these boys live in. Your interest kept mine alive! And lastly, [Keiko](/users/opinionoutpost/), without you I definitely would have never finished this. Your questions, your comments, you edits really pushed me forward. I've already told you once but you have a way of talking about writing that really kept me going. Thank you for all the time you've given to this fic and me. 
> 
> Enjoy~

Chanyeol is not waiting impatiently for Jongin to knock on his apartment door. His knee bouncing up and down is not a testament of his impatience. The moment he takes notice of his knee impatiently bouncing, he stops it and places both hands on his thighs.

But if he was being impatient, it’s a good thing, Jongdae, his roommate, is not around to coo at his behavior and then compete for Jongin’s attention once he arrives—his pastel-yellow haired roommate dotes on the beloved eighteen-year-old like a younger brother, in spite of their different hair colors. It's amazing the two get along so well considering how worried Jongin had been prior to their first meeting.

Although it’s been years since hair color has stratified their society, the hair classes still exist, and many, even the younger generation, continue to have pre-conceived ideas of the different hair groups. The hair classes are the Achromatics, Pastels, Vibrants, and Metallics. Many Pastels only see ravens, a subset of the larger Achromatics group and defined by their black hair, as an extension of the Nation Council’s rules and regulations, while a lot of ravens, young and old, continue to see Pastels as untrustworthy since the Great War. Jongin had worried that Jongdae would judge him for his black hair, and the last thing Jongin had wanted to do was make this stranger uncomfortable. Chanyeol had swept his soft hair out of the way and kissed him on the forehead. He held on to Jongin’s hand tighter, saying, “You’re not alone, babe.” Jongin’s pretty smile had been blinding.

When Chanyeol and Jongin first arrived at the apartment—a few days before his work-experience began—it hadn’t taken Jongdae long to warm up to Jongin, the kittenish smile appearing on Jongdae’s face after Jongin had stuttered his way through their first introductions.

Impatience is not the reason that he throws himself off the living room sofa and dashes to the door half a second after a knock finally comes. His heart is thudding fast like a scampering rabbit as he pulls open the door.

Jongin’s pretty, brown eyes are the first thing he sees, and he takes in briefly the plain white t-shirt and his blue washed-out jeans. _So beautiful_. The words a perfect echo of his thoughts when he first saw Jongin in that classroom on his first day at Sunview High. He reaches for Jongin, pulling him in close and lowers his head to push his face into Jongin’s neck and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, letting Jongin’s smell envelop him, feeling instantly better. Jongin’s arms wrap around him tight and Chanyeol feels like he can finally breathe. Jongin has always been unconditional love.

Chanyeol raises his head and smiles at Jongin’s furrowed brows as he sinks into Jongin once again, but this time he pushes Jongin against the open, white door and kisses him. His fingers comb through Jongin’s soft, black hair as he tilts Jongin’s head back to kiss him deeper.

He can’t help but remember their first night together, when Jongin came in through his bedroom window. The morning after was when his parents met Jongin because his mother had found him with Jongin in his arms. The butterflies of anticipation and yearning in his stomach are similar. The tendrils of heartbreak are not.

Jongin sighs as they pull away and Chanyeol kisses his forehead. “So, you missed me?” Jongin asks, honey voice sprinkled in humor, as if Chanyeol hadn’t said or messaged ‘I miss you’ incessantly over the past week, but still Chanyeol’s heart swells. Not too long ago that humor would have been disbelief and insecurity. Chanyeol kisses him again, stealing the smile from his lips. Chanyeol is a hopeless thief, in his attempt to keep Jongin’s smiles, laughs, and sighs locked away (as well as the other things that Jongin does that make his heart ache). For the past week, Jongin had been busy with his last requirements to finally be part of the Nation’s Guard. Jongin leaves tomorrow evening.

The calls had been painful—they made his heart heavy: a final notice of living without Jongin for five years. Chanyeol shoves these feelings to the back of his mind, swallowing the shards of loss. There will be enough time this evening and night to come to terms with this reality.

Chanyeol closes the door and watches Jongin look around the small but tidy apartment, thanks to Jongdae. The dark, blue sofa stands in contrast to the pale gray walls and the brown book shelf, full of notebooks, books of music, and his and Jongdae’s collection of music. A robust, green tiny plant sits on top of the shelf. It’s Chanyeol’s pride and joy.

“Jongdae’s not home?”

Chanyeol smiles because Jongin knows the answer to this. If Jongdae was home, the first one to hug Jongin would have been Jongdae.

In lieu of an answer, Chanyeol hugs him from behind, and Jongin doesn’t startle. Instead, he rests back, head against his shoulder. Chanyeol's heart swells again, a familiar occurrence around Jongin. When they had first started hanging out, he had been worried by the heart abnormalities. Why did it feel funny at times? Was he getting sick? Had he missed one of his monthly shots? But when he talked to his sister and explained what was happening, she’d laughed and pulled one of his ears, “You have a crush, brat.”

Chanyeol kisses Jongin’s cheek as Jongin’s hands rest on his, grounding him. “He said he wanted to spend the night at Jieun’s.” Jongin lets out a laugh that quickly turns into a groan as Chanyeol teasingly sucks on Jongin’s neck, “He also said that he wanted to give you a departure gift,” he grins as Jongin whines and put his hands over his face.

Chanyeol laughs and gives Jongin’s ear a kiss before letting go and turning Jongin around. “Babe,” he says and Jongin peeks over his fingers, “you know, we don’t have to do anything, right?” Although, they’ve had sex and made love more than a few times, it is important to Chanyeol to remind Jongin that they don’t have to do more than cuddle and sleep together.

Jongin blinks several times at him and lowers his hands and lets out a breath, cheeks still tinted red. “I know, I know. This isn’t about being with you. It’s just…that…”

“That Jongdae knows?”

“No!” Jongin falters, and Chanyeol waits. Jongin takes a step forward, “I think I just got embarrassed because Jongdae is my friend, and he knows so much without me saying anything. I’m not used to this.” Jongin half-smiles as his finishes.

As an Achromatic, Jongin has been taught to keep his personal wants and feelings to himself. The Nation’s way of preparing him to be part of the Guard as a soldier. If Jongin is to share, it should only be with his family and, perhaps one day, with his significant other. Such beliefs were supposed to be outdated since Dr. Minseok’s findings. However, it was hard for societies to change if these beliefs were not completely uprooted, one of Chanyeol’s instructor had once said. Since Jongdae didn’t belong to either of the aforementioned groups, it was still so new for Jongin to have more than one friend. It had been a slow process for Chanyeol to understand that while he, as a lilac, had been encouraged to make friends, be social, Jongin had been pushed to separate himself from society through his education and his parents. Jongin had not been encouraged to make friends.

“I get it.”

Jongin stares at him for a moment, and Chanyeol heart wobbles. Sometimes it still feels so surreal to be like this with Jongin: this close, this vulnerable, this in love. Jongin hugs him, cheek pressed to Chanyeol’s shoulder. Chanyeol tightens his arms around Jongin and, finally, painfully, Chanyeol accepts that he doesn’t want Jongin to leave.

There’s nothing special about turning eighteen, Jongin thinks at age fourteen. Perhaps, for those who have chosen or been chosen to be part of the Nation’s Guard for their Leader, it marks the finish line for when they can go off to training and have a chance of fulfilling a bigger destiny than they could have ever imagined. Just like Lieutenant D.O did when he saved everyone. Or at least that’s what Taemin has said many times since they were in primary school and learned about the traditional roles of those born with achromatic hair, those with pastel hair, those with vibrant hair, and even those with metallic hair. Or as now referred in present society: Achromatics, Pastels, Vibrants, and Metallics.

As they grow older, they learn that the history behind these roles is more complex and that this history is also of the foundation of the New Nation. Before their nation was the New Nation, it used to be part of the Great Nation. But they learn of General Kris, a wielder of fire, who caused the Great Nation to split into the New Nation and the Old Nation when he and his supporters stormed the Great Nation Leader’s home and set it on fire with their bare hands. General Kris was out of control, a slave to the power of fire. It makes Jongin shiver when he reads about it with his class, eyes wide in shock. No wonder, two-hundred years later, Pastels are still not allowed into the Guard, even though the other laws that General Suho (as the Nation’s Leader) and the Council set to separate the hair classes are no longer upheld. It’s this change that led their nation to be named the New Nation since a lot of the old ways were changed to control the threats General Suho saw after the Great War.

Jongin and everyone else also learn of the still current Nation’s family, The Ohs. They learn about the _Tree of Life_’s roll in their monthly or annual injections (which was dependent on their hair class). Healer Lay used the Tree of Life to perfect these injections to healthily maintain their body’s balance and suppress their personal affinities to the Earth’s elements (also known as their powers) so these affinities did not destroy them, like they did to General Kris and his supporters.

Taemin did not only choose to be part of the Guard, but his parents received a letter from the Nation’s Council when he was a baby. It’s been in the stars since Taemin was born! Or so Taemin has said many times throughout their friendship, eyes sparkling with wonder when they are still young and then with confidence as they progressed into their teens. And it’s not that Jongin doesn’t believe him, poetics and all—it’s that Taemin has a tendency to gloat and sometimes, just sometimes, he tunes him out. Not that Taemin really cares, if the way his voice rises, and he prances all around is any indication.

Getting a letter is not the only way to become part of the Guard; Achromatics can sign up to be part of the Guard anytime during high school. To choose to be part of the Guard is an honorable choice because brave and loyal D.O chose to serve their first Nation’s Leader when he also served Kris. Every Achromatic student has a mandatory meeting their first year with a school counselor about pursuing Guard Duties after high school, and Jongin feels nothing but a slight stomachache after this meeting. He had assured the counselor that he wasn’t going to sign up, his mother’s disapproving face flashing in his mind even as he spoke.<strike></strike>

Had it not been for Dr. Minseok Kim, fifty years ago, who had dismantled the societal belief that skills, talent, and treachery were unique to specific hair colors, Jongin may not have ever had the freedom to walk out of that office because while all Achromatics had always been accepted and encouraged in the Guard, ravens had been expected to attend the Guard since Lieutenant D.O had also had black hair. Nowadays, Pastels can choose from a number of roles in the arts that benefit society. Some even went on to take up healer roles in society, like nurses and family doctors. Yet the more skill demanding roles, like surgeons, were still mostly held by Metallics. Achromatics were no longer forced to be part of the Guard, and Vibrants could choose among various protective, physically demanding roles.

However, receiving a letter in the mail from the Council bestows upon the family an honor that no one (as far as the history books have documented) has ever rejected. So Jongin thanked his lucky stars all the way through his first year of high school that his family had never received a letter of request for his participation, because while Dr. Minseok Kim’s research had changed society’s expectations, Dr. Minseok Kim’s could not change the beliefs people still passed on. Therefore, it wasn’t like Jongin, nor anyone around him, to question the way society ran. Still, he couldn’t help feeling relief at not being requested.

It was this day, Friday, the last day of his first week of his second year of high school, when he’s sixteen, that Jongin remembers as the day that his destiny was fulfilled—Taemin’s words forever tattooed at his heart’s core. Jongin lets himself in with his key, toeing his shoes off at the door, rubbing one eye as he drops his backpack. He loosely holds the few envelopes in his hand he picked up from the mailbox, stretching his arms over his head, and yawns, dropping an envelope. As he picks it up, thinking about what he should eat, he notices the crest at the corner—a crest he remembers from the history books about the Council. It’s a tree with limbs spread out and wide, or as the books dubbed it, _The Tree of Life_.

Jongin gingerly sits on the living room couch and does not revel in the plushness underneath his sore body. It’d been a long session—Jongin always surprisingly enjoyed the focus that came from sparring against other students in his Hapkido class. The anticipation in his opponent’s choice of attack always gave him the means to empty his mind—to have a moment of clarity, a freedom of sorts. Jongin doesn’t have that clarity right now. Disbelief sits heavy as he stares down at the compact, standard envelope. He doesn’t register the silence in between his ears or the way the envelope trembles in his hands, fingertips holding what he sincerely never expected to see.

The envelope is addressed to his parents because, as the teachers explained in year four, the Council maybe requesting the child’s participation in the Guard, but it’s a familial honor—an honor that Jongin understands with an absent heart he could never reject. The Guard had been implemented in honor of Lieutenant D.O, who had never wavered in his loyalty to the Nation and had protected the Great Nation's leader. Without Lieutenant D.O, the Great War would have destroyed the nation, so it only seemed fitting for his legacy to live on through the establishment of the Guard. His mother has told him more stories of Lieutenant D.O than of General Suho, because even though General Suho saved the Nation from destruction, Lieutenant D.O was one of the few brave, black-haired soldiers who made the choice to stand behind General Suho. Therefore, like the birds, Lieutenant D.O was seen as brave, loyal, and fearless, a true raven to the core, and now, all black-haired citizens of the New Nation were referred to as ravens, another way to keep Lieutenant D.O alive. 

No one in their right mind would disappoint their parents or the Nation, especially not parents who have made it clear that their raven child participating in the Guard would be a dream come true.

His parents find him in the living room. His mother chides him for not turning on the light and only having the lamp next to him on. He blinks rapidly as the room floods with over-bright light.

Jongin knows he should be ecstatic and not this visibly upset so he shakes it off, but his heart still squeezes at the thought of not pursuing his passion for painting in university. He was ready to face the questioning stares of being the only raven in a sea of Pastels. He had done so this last year having obtained permission to take various art classes as well as the other core classes, Hapkido among them, mostly due to his mother’s wishes. The counselor had been kind, if not truly understanding. (“But you’re capable of completing training. Most ravens who don’t attend only do so because they are unfit for participation.” _Like his mother._)

He knows he is not prepared for his parents’ reaction to this letter, but he has to give it to his mom as she waits for him to greet her. She’s holding a takeout bag. He can hear his father closing the door with the other takeout bag in his hands. Jongin takes the bag from her hands and he gives her the envelope. There’s a question in the rise of her eyebrows at the exchange.

“I’m going to put this on the dining table.” He turns and puts his back to her because he cannot handle the look of pride on her face.

Jongin was maybe five years old, definitely not older than six, when his parents told him how he came to be part of their family. His mother had been a healthy and strong raven throughout her youth—ready to achieve the greatness she had always wanted for her family and for herself. Yet, a leg injury had taken that choice from her when she was seventeen. She used to be part of track and field in high school, strongly devoted to it, and had not made the greatest choices when her leg showed signs of exhaustion. She’d been really sad after the injury (“I wasn’t making good choices.”), so when she finally went into rehab, her right leg had never been the same. She could never run long distances at the same speed without pain. She may have been able to be accepted into the Guard, she told Jongin who watched her in rapt attention from his father’s lap, little mouth open in an _O_, but she could have never been able to do what she wanted to do: guarding and defending the Nation’s citizens from all threats: internal and external.

Internal threats were those citizens of the New Nation who failed to take their shots and lost control of their bodies, overcome by the power that the monthly or annual injections suppressed. Most of the people who broke this regulation were Pastels. Powers changed bodies and people, and all these people did bad to others, until their bodies broke down, leading to painful and destructive deaths. It was the Guard’s job to stop them before the worst happened. External threats came mostly the Old Nation’s Red Force, once they managed to cross the mountains that Lieutenant D.O coaxed from the Earth to protect everyone in the Great War.

So she adjusted and took up drawing, a passion she didn’t know she had—“I guess it was fate.” Jongin giggled as his mom and dad kissed, but he sat still when she kissed his forehead, “I met your dad at school and that was that. Fast forward five years and we decided we wanted you,” she booped his nose and he laughed again, pointing to his cheek for a kiss. He hugged her when she came near, but his dad wrapped his arms around him to stop him from leaving him. Jongin ended up screaming and laughing as they softly squished him in a hug. He was surrounded by lavender and pines. Jongin remembers viscerally the feeling of euphoria that swallowed him in that moment. He felt so safe and wanted. He felt like he could do anything. In that moment, at five, feeling more attuned to his mom for her black hair than his father’s pastel blue, he truly wanted to be part of the Guard with his whole heart to always keep the three of them this happy, to keep his mother’s strong arms around him where she loved him unrestrictedly.

A few years later, when he was eight, he asked his mother for permission to be part of the comic book club at his school, and he found out what happened next in the story. Instead of answering his question, she made him sit on her lap, putting her drawing pad and pencil to the side of her. They were outside, she was sitting on a bench while he swung from the wooden swing she had built for him. She told him that his dad and her fought for him. “They didn’t want to give us you, a baby with black hair. They didn’t think we were fit for a healthy, strong raven.” When she said this, Jongin had the urge to look away from her, to stare at the moving swing, left swaying in his absence. “I wanted a child I could be supportive of—that I could support in reaching his full potential.” She and his dad sent a total of three applications to the Council for a raven child. A year of waiting for an answer for each application. “But we didn’t give up.” She kissed him on the forehead and Jongin closed his eyes, a tear escaping down his cheek.

She’d always encouraged him to run with her in the mornings and evenings. She wanted him to be physically fit and not vulnerable to injuries like the one she’d suffered. She even showed him what she learned in her martial arts class. He’d refused to be part of martial arts class himself. It was fun as long as he didn’t have expectations to meet. He liked moving his body in those striking positions, but he always felt out of his element—the movements too aggressive and not him. Lately, she wanted more from Jongin than just him exploring these different arts with her. She expected excellence: it was clear in the hugs she gave him when she asked about his physical classes, in the way she pressed him to try out for all kinds of sports in spite of his reservations.

Somehow it was clear, although he could not put it into words, nothing that didn’t involve using his body in these ways could ever be right for his mom. She wanted a son who was active in the Nation’s Guard; he just wanted to explore why art called to him. So, they came up with a deal—Jongin could be part of this comic book club where they would read as well as create their own visual art, but he would have to join a sport at school or a martial arts class. Jongin didn’t understand why he felt like crying when he agreed, and his mother laughed. “Don’t worry, Jonginnie! You’re going to have so much fun. You’ll be ready for the Guard when you have to go.” She smiled and Jongin felt alone. Her arms around him, suffocating.

Chanyeol doesn’t say anything or ask about Jongin’s past week before or after they watch a movie. He doesn’t ask anything while they eat their Chicken Alfredo. Chanyeol had planned, prepared, and cooked it with the intent of not only making this meal delicious but also to celebrate Jongin breaking his diet—a diet he had to maintain because of Hapkido as well as running. The meal is delicious, and Jongin eats it with gusto. Yet, while Chanyeol may be silent, his mind is racing. His throat is sore when he swallows down water, hurting, perhaps, because of the questions he’s bottling up.

Instead, they talk about Chanyeol’s students and the new songs he’s working on, some with Jongdae, some on his own. They talk about the newest watercolor painting that Jongin is working on: a tiny black bird with a red chest he saw by his window. It had a golden flower in its beak. Still, at the back of his mind, even though muted, are the questions he wants to ask. A dark, pitiful part of him wants to know more of the process that is taking Jongin away in spite knowing of the complicated relationship Jongin has with his duty to the Nation. In spite, knowing of the pain that it causes Jongin to talk about this with him. Yet, he’s also selfish and too fearful to willingly taint his last night with Jongin. He doesn’t have any nice things to say about this requirement, and this is dangerous. The Nation does not tolerate questioners, and somehow, they always know of those who disagree with how things are done.

Chanyeol bites the inside of his cheek.

Shockingly, it’s Jongin who starts talking, once he’s done with his pasta, fork clinking against his empty plate.

Jongin looks at him, forehead wrinkling, and Chanyeol’s stomach twists. The word “Don’t” at the edge of his tongue, but Jongin still shatters him.

“Mom said that I should not ask you to wait for me. That-that five years is too long to wait—Chanyeol, stop—here me out.” Jongin pleads, lost, as Chanyeol pushes away from the table, heartbeat loud in his ears.

He feels faint as he rushes away, not paying attention to Jongin. He doesn’t see if Jongin is behind him. His stomach is lead. The air in his lungs is not enough. Of course, Mrs. Kim told Jongin this! She’d hated Chanyeol from their first meeting, her eyes continuously flickering from his eyes to his hair throughout dinner, the crease between her brows growing deeper and deeper as the night progressed. Jongin had never shared his mother's prejudices with Chanyeol, but he didn't have to. It wasn't difficult to discern that she didn't approve of their relationship. Who could blame her? Everyone was wary when it came to the mixing of hair colors in young people. Even Chanyeol’s own sister, Yoora, had brought up the same topic once, voice full of worry. But it had not been an attack. It had been an honest inquiry of worry. _What is your future going to be like with him in the Guard? He might not want to come back. _

But that’s not what’s piercing his heart, making it hard to breathe. He’s never let the Nation’s expectations limit his choices, always driving his mother up the wall with his independence. No, it’s more the fact that Jongin brought it up! That’s what’s making Chanyeol nearly hysterical. Why would Jongin bring it up if he didn’t want to end their relationship right now?

“Achromatics normally start dating at 25” after their time in the Guard, a survey in one of his textbooks had stated. Of course, this survey had only counted those who came back. It didn’t account for the ones that never went. (How many never go? He’d asked in class, but the numbers weren’t available. His instructor moved the class along before they could have a discussion of what this meant in the New Nation.)

Chanyeol wipes away the tears spilling over his cheeks, and he blinks. He’s in the middle of his room. He hadn’t really been paying attention to where he was going. He just wanted to get away. Put a stop to the words coming out of Jongin’s mouth.

Daylight had come and gone as Chanyeol and Jongin spent their time together. Now the only light spilling into the room between the space of the curtains was the street light. It was enough to make visible his unmade bed, his messy desk, and the guitar next to it. He hates how time passes by even as he struggles to hold on it. Chanyeol feels pitiful and decides this is not what he wants. He doesn’t want to feel hopeless. He takes a deep breath, a moment to shake his thoughts. He won’t fall apart. He’s going to go back to the living room and tell Jongin Kim exactly what he thinks of his mother’s advice.

When he turns, he’s not startled to see Jongin at the door. It’s an assurance of what they have, just like it was calming to decide a few moments before to go back to Jongin. Still, it also pains Chanyeol to see Jongin. Brown eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Insecure, afraid, lonely. It’s been a long time since Jongin looked at him like that. He aches to touch him, but he says nothing, letting Jongin do what he came to do, knowing the importance of giving Jongin space to say what is on his mind.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” The words are a startlingly echo of his own words—words he once told Jongin when Jongin had pushed him away, not too long ago. Yet at the same time, it feels like it’s been eons ago. Things have changed so much since then. Look at where they are now.

Jongin steps forward, shoulders lowering as he takes another breath, brown eyes searching his face, and Chanyeol hopes that what Jongin is looking for is there because Chanyeol is exhausted and can’t hide his fears and wants anymore.

Jongin steps closer, stopping only when he’s a foot away, and Chanyeol tips forward, always drawn to Jongin, as Jongin bring up his hands to cup Chanyeol’s face. They stare, and Chanyeol continues to stare even as Jongin’s eyes close when their foreheads touch.

Chanyeol takes in a ragged breath, bringing his own trembling hands up and placing them atop Jongin’s smaller hands. He wants Jongin to never leave him. From this angle, trying not to go cross-eyed, Chanyeol marvels at Jongin. Dark, wet lashes, fluttering like a resting butterfly.

He is such a jerk. He hadn’t meant to make Jongin cry, but he had, putting himself over Jongin, running away from what Jongin had wanted to say. Because he’s sure of their future now, having Jongin this close, vulnerable. Because nothing is as certain as a butterfly resting on a flower.

He takes in another ragged breath, swallowing guilt, and turns his lips to Jongin’s palm. “I don’t want you to go.”

Jongin’s reaction is instantaneous. The palms on his face dropping away in shock. Pretty, brown eyes wide. Pink mouth agape.

Chanyeol’s heart stops. He is pretty fucking sure it stops. Dead. Shock. He didn’t mean to say those words out loud. He never wanted to say those words out loud.

Blasphemous. Burdensome. Selfish.

No wonder Jongin’s mom doesn’t want him as her son’s significant other. Where is his loyalty? His pride for their Nation? Why does he keep putting himself first? _Why can’t you just follow the rules, Chanyeol? Why can’t you be good like the other children, dear? _These words come back to him in moments of weakness, remembering his first heartbreak, caused by his favorite primary teacher. _Mom, am I too loud?_

Chanyeol had gone back home in the middle of the past week. It was an unplanned trip. After spending the day teaching children to make music with everyday objects, he’d come to the empty apartment, Jongdae was still at the studio, and felt the walls around his heart cave, tears at the edge of his eyes. Because, this was life without Jongin. It was messaging him and not getting an answer at that moment and the rest of the day. It was not being able to call him when he wanted to share adorable moments from his time with the children. It was going days without seeing him or holding him in his arms just because he wanted to. It was being this sad without the prospect of Jongin wiping his tears away and holding him close.

He’d called home, and Yoora had picked up. He didn’t even question why she was home, since she now lived alone; he had just asked her to pick him up. Normally she would have said no, that she was busy, but this time, when she heard his voice, she’d said be there as soon as possible. It had always been like that with them, best friends growing up. Chanyeol didn’t pack anything, anguish making it hard to think beyond his need not to be alone.

Chanyeol hugged her when he went out to the car (she’d gotten out to wait for him). They’d driven in silence. Music filling up the space. She hadn’t asked him any questions, and this had been enough. Her presence was a blanket. When they got home, his mother served him his favorite dish with the same stern look from his childhood that left no room for argument, and he felt the tears at the corner of his eyes again, but he smiled when she said, “There now, Yeolie. You know you’re not alone.” His sister ruffled his hair, and she sat at the table too.

Later that night, when he sat in his room with his sister by his side on his bed, he finally told her what he’d been carrying alongside his love for Jongin. Anger. Resentment. Desperation. Sadness. Against the Guard. This last part he whispered because this wasn’t a challenge to the Guard’s authority or the Ohs. It was only a moment of grief.

His sister pulled him closer with her arm around his shoulders, coaxing him to rest his head against her shoulder. She gently interlocked their fingers with her free hand. “Yeol, you know I don't know any ravens, so I can't say that I know how you feel, but I’m sure when I tell you this: it’s okay to tell Jongin you’re going to miss him. I know he’ll miss you. But please,” she pulled away from him and stared at him with eyes filled with concern, “Be careful of what you say, don’t put him in a difficult position. His loyalty lies with the Nation, after all.”

And now he’s ruined everything. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling warm—hot.

Before Chanyeol can overthink more, before he can work himself in a fit, Jongin’s hands are on his face again, eyes closed, foreheads touching, “It’s okay,” Jongin whispers over his lips, “We’re okay.” _We’re going to be okay._

A heartbeat perhaps or maybe a million years after, Chanyeol kisses him, breath stuttering, and wraps his arms around Jongin’s neck, cheek pressed against Jongin’s shoulder. He takes another deep breath. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

Jongin’s arms squeeze around his waist. It feels like a promise, and it’s grounding. In the pool of the street light, they stand and Chanyeol isn’t sure for how long, but the pounding of his heart steadies in his ears, and the air in his lungs is no longer heavy. He lets his love for Jongin calm him. He lets his love for Jongin center him. He kisses Jongin’s shoulder in a reflex. Or an afterthought.

Jongin giggles. Of course, he heard that, felt that. Why wouldn’t he feel that? He doesn’t let the blush in his cheeks make him feel embarrassed. He’s never embarrassed when he does things like this. He’s just not feeling his best is all.

“Feeling better, love?” The last word is a tease. But Chanyeol feels warm, secure. The pet name makes him feel special. Confident again. In lieu of an answer, Chanyeol turns to the crook of Jongin’s neck. Jongin shivers, and Chanyeol smiles. Payback.

He startles when Jongin begins to walk them backward. Thankfully Jongin doesn’t giggle again. Jongin pauses when the back of Chanyeol’s legs meet the mattress and gently lays Chanyeol on the bed. The beating of Chanyeol’s heart is the only noise in the room, and he releases a breath despite the fullness of his heart. Jongin adjusts himself over Chanyeol: elbows bracket his head, and his legs rest in between Chanyeol’s. His hands slide under Jongin’s loose T-shirt, the pads of his fingers whispering promises against Jongin’s skin until Chanyeol’s palms pause at the small of Jongin’s back. His fingertips and Jongin’s soft skin are a familiar frission: a buzzing kiss of sunlight on a long, lazy July afternoon.

The streetlight that drizzles into the bedroom barely outlines Jongin’s eyes as he looks down at him, but Chanyeol’s breath still catches in his throat. He’s astounded once again—despite the countless times they’ve been in this position—by the intensity of Jongin’s eyes on him. Those perfect eyes. His heart picks up again as Jongin lowers his face and brushes his lips against Chanyeol’s open mouth; a barely-there kiss that Chanyeol almost doesn’t get the chance to return. Jongin brings one of his strong hands to cup Chanyeol’s jaw, fingers splayed warm and familiar across his cheek, his thumb resting under Chanyeol’s bottom lip.

“I love you,” Jongin lays a soft kiss to his top lip, “Nothing will change that,” passes a gentle kiss to his bottom lip, “Don’t forget,” and offers a last kiss to his open mouth.

They stay like that, staring through the filter of the elusive night, safe in the silence that surrounds the blanket of their breathing. With their hearts synced, there is nothing Chanyeol can say. Nothing he says can change what’s to happen. And maybe, he wouldn’t change it if he could. Not anymore. Everything has been out of their hands since they were born into the New Nation. Peace and comfort come at the price of few. While he understands, he also thinks it’s unfair, but he knows better. His sister’s words louder in his ears. These thoughts he will make sure to never say aloud in case anyone—including Jongin—thinks him ungrateful.

Chanyeol blinks away the tears that form at the corner of his eyes. His heart is still breaking, and he doesn’t think it will ever stop breaking as long as Jongin is away from him. But—his sister asked him during their talk, would he change knowing Jongin like he does now?

_No!_ Being able to love Jongin, hold Jongin, have had Jongin is discovering the caress of the sun against his face, is the sigh of the afternoon breeze after a long day, is fitting into this skin he once found confining. It’s natural as breathing because Jongin has never once asked him to change.

He surges upward, arms wrapping around Jongin, pulling him closer. Jongin’s lips part easily for Chanyeol’s tongue, and his heart squeezes as he realizes that everything has always been easy with Jongin since they met.

He feels Jongin’s tears on his face, but he doesn’t reach up to wipe them away. There is no point when they don’t have time; they only have tonight. And, Jongin doesn’t want them acknowledged. They’ve had enough silent disagreements over Jongin’s unhappiness: Chanyeol believes it’s natural to feel this way about being uprooted to fulfill his duties to the Nation, but Jongin won’t acknowledge it. Yet, his eyes can’t lie. Jongin’s eyes are opalescent, the clearest windows to his soul. Chanyeol thinks he’s never better understood the term “bittersweet” as he does in this moment, knowing that this is the last night they’ll touch. His heart may be broken but that doesn’t make him want Jongin any less.

As they change positions and rid themselves of their shirts, Jongin, his beautiful Jongin, is now lying on the bed, and Chanyeol’s only thoughts are to leave his mark to give Jongin something tangible to keep, for when he leaves for what the Nation has chosen him to do. He wants Jongin to always remember that Chanyeol is here, waiting for him—that he will always be here.

_Five years will go by quick_, he thinks as he kisses down Jongin’s throat, and teasingly bites the soft skin on his neck, his collarbones, his tummy. He makes sure to be gentle, never truly doing more than lightly taking Jongin’s skin between his teeth. He soothes these soft bites. Jongin’s fingers start on his arms, nails digging into muscle, then slide up to his hair as Chanyeol moves downward. Their breathing is audible in the quiet of his room.

Chanyeol hums as he mouths on the soft skin of his tummy, and Jongin trembles. He knows that if he looked up now Jongin’s bottom lip would be caught in between his pretty teeth, an attempt to quiet his reaction. Chanyeol lets Jongin’s inevitable gasp be the salve for their heart break.

As he leans down to pull down the zipper of Jongin’s pants, Chanyeol wishes he could freeze this moment, find a way to keep it as a snapshot, to step back into whenever he wants so that Jongin and him are never too far apart. Kneeled in between Jongin’s spread thighs as Jongin sits up to kiss him is exactly where Chanyeol hopes to always be. Always close to touch, to love, to be the one who gets to hold Jongin as he pulls him apart, gently, lovingly. Jongin’s lips are still as sweet as the first time—Chanyeol heals as he licks into Jongin’s mouth. Time fades into the background. Jongin’s hands cradle his face, fingers reverent, and Chanyeol puts his hands against Jongin’s bare chest, keeps himself still to feel the shudder and shake of Jongin’s breaths.

“What do you want, Jongin?’ Words obviously not referring to Jongin’s departure, but the kiss Chanyeol gifts Jongin is still an apology because his voice almost broke. He presses kisses to Jongin’s face as he waits, making sure to cover all the delicate skin on his cheeks, his nose, and his forehead. He lays feather kisses on Jongin’s silky, butterfly eyelids, and Jongin breath hitches, warm lips against Chanyeol’s throat tremble out a reply, “I want to touch you. I want to lay you down on your pillows. I want to feel you with my fingers, my lips, and my mouth. Chanyeol.” His name a breathy whine.

Chanyeol’s breath staccatos in response to Jongin’s honesty—he doesn’t let the memories of how long it’s taken for Jongin to be comfortable with sharing his thoughts about what he wants to do with Chanyeol mar this moment; he wants to give Jongin all that he wants. Yet Jongin doesn’t move, instead nestles his face to the middle of Chanyeol’s chest, ear pressed against his heart.

Chanyeol rests his chin on the crown of Jongin’s head, wrapping his arms around him, as his heart flutters, cheeks warm, and closes his eyes. He’s not sure how long they sit like that, wrapped in each other, but he knows he needs this. He will always need this. He wants to tattoo the feeling of Jongin in his arms, the feeling of Jongin’s arms around him tightly, and Jongin against his chest finally crying.

It had taken a long time to acknowledge that Jongin would leave and a longer time to accept that it was out of his hands. That it would always be out of his hands in a world like theirs. He had finally acknowledged it this past week, perhaps, while looking through his university acceptance packet and talking to his sister. Happy Achromatics, Pastels, and Vibrants on the front of the school flier. No ravens. A punch in the gut.

He doesn’t say _I love you _again because he knows Jongin knows and that’s all that really matters right now.

It is Monday, the school day following the Friday he received the letter for the Guard, and he feels queasy exiting his mother’s car at the front of the school. He gives her a half-smile as she stares at him a beat longer before she waves and drives away. He lets out the breath he had been holding as he sees her car disappear at a turn. His heart beats a broken drum and he swallows against the confused emotions that are bottled in his chest. He makes his way to the main office, mind made up to change his school schedule.

It had been like a moment of clarity when he realized he should do it for his wellbeing. Clarity was not the right word—a better phrase was accepting what had to be, peacefully. In Hapkido, he’d learned to anticipate and, in that way, minimize the energy in deflecting an attack. The idea to drop all classes part of the performing art program had been wisps of smoke Saturday night as he tossed and turned instead of sleeping. He spent Sunday morning staring at the syllabi given to him by his art, dance, and singing classes willing the shard of glass stuck in his throat to dislodge. All he could do, really, was let the prickly idea at the back of his mind take shape: he needed to drop these classes—minimize his disillusionment. It was time to own up to his responsibility as a citizen of this society. He didn’t cry. There were many reasons why he didn’t cry—some of them looked a lot like his mother and her enthusiasm for his future. It was all he could do to eat the serving of food he was given at dinner as she and his father talked about having shared the news with his uncles, aunts, and grandparents. He didn’t cry because it was an honor. He hadn’t told Taemin about the letter yet.

There is half an hour before classes start as he knocks on the door to Counselor Zhang’s office. He raises his hand to knock again when Counselor Zhang calls out, “Give me a sec.” Jongin takes a deep, steeling himself, and rests against the wall opposite the door. There are a few doors open down this blue carpeted hallway. He can hear the distant voices of the people in the main office, a phone ringing, the thump of the sliding doors opening and closing. He straightens up when Counselor Zhang’s door opens.

When he first met Counselor Zhang, Jongin was unnerved, his mother’s countless remarks about propriety a background buzz as he sat down. What alarmed Jongin was Counselor Zhang’s wavy hair—it was two colors: black at the roots then white silver for three quarters of it. He’d never seen someone with two hair colors. What did this mean? Counselor Zhang also wore thin, round glasses. Only few people wore glasses—those who failed to take their injections consistently, letting the two suns unbalance their bodies’ systems. Glasses were one of the side-effects of not taking their shots as expected from everyone in their society.

Jongin wanted to ask why his hair was these two colors, but years of schooling about knowing one’s place and respect toward elders made him hold his tongue. It didn’t matter, really; Counselor Zhang was here having been deemed worthy enough to be a school counselor. As the session ended, Jongin learned to look past his hair and glasses because Counselor Zhang was one of the few adults who actually asked him questions and let him talk. His unwavering but open gaze as Jongin spoke made Jongin feel for once that nothing was expected of him but what he wanted. His chest loosened as he shared his plans after high school. This talk had happened half way through his first year of high school. Jongin had been fifteen.

Now at sixteen, he sits back straight, fists in his lap, and bites his lower lip. His heart a fluttering bird in a cage. He shared his plans to drop his performing art classes, and Counselor Zhang sits in silence, pressed back into his chair, leg folded over his knee, pen twirling in his hand. He finally looks up from the pen into Jongin’s eyes and leans forward onto his desk, elbows on several pieces of paper, “Why are you so twisted in knots then, if this is what you want?”

Jongin is shocked. For whatever reason he is always so shocked by Counselor Zhang’s bluntness, regarding his feelings. He supposes it’s probably very obvious how he feels about this and the Guard, but he can’t really wrap his mind around how attuned Counselor Zhang is to his emotions. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t visit Counselor Zhang often, or because no adult has ever been this concerned and vocal about understanding how he, Jongin, feels.

He wonders how to appropriately explain without being disrespectful. (“_Your actions don’t only reflect on yourself but also your family.” _He’d always felt an unexplainable anger toward this recruiting commercial on television because of these words.) He looks away from Counselor Zhang, to try to sort through his own thoughts, and focuses on Counselor Zhang’s placard, golden letters in a bouncy, fluffy font.

“Jongin.” Counselor Zhang gently says, and he looks up, swallowing to make that glass shard disappear.

Jongin is already so exhausted.

“How about this,” Counselor Zhang continues, eyes fixed on Jongin, and he wills himself not to look away, “you give yourself another week to think…” _about dropping the courses _is left unsaid. Jongin doesn’t know how to explain that taking these classes instead of not taking them is worse when his mother doesn’t think they mean anything. His dad has always been a bit more aware of Jongin’s feelings but always quiet in his mother’s tirades.

“I want you to guide him around the school.” Counselor Zhang’s words drop like a spray of cold water and he realizes that he’d been quiet for too long, his attention may have even wandered too, and Counselor Zhang had taken that as an acquisition. He swallows painfully and asks mildly annoyed, “A guide for who?”

Counselor Zhang looks up from the paper he is writing on and smiles but doesn’t reprimand his obvious lack of attention. “We have a new student to the school, actually,” Counselor Zhang adds looking down at the paper in his hand, “he is also new to the city and I wanted to place him under your guidance.” He finishes, dark eyes practically twinkling behind his glasses.

Before Jongin can say anything (_I can’t Counselor Zhang. I’m going to be too busy with all these changes._), Counselor Zhang almost as an afterthought, says, “He will be part of our performance art program and needs someone who knows the school and someone he can ask for help.”

At these words, his excuses die, and he wonders if this is a test. A test for Counselor Zhang to see if Jongin is really truthful and ready to serve his Nation, if he can really put strangers’ lives before his own. If he can be the leader for his city, put his family as well as the Leader’s name in an honorable light.

Jongin takes a deep breath, lets oxygen fully fill his lungs. “I can help him out. I can be his guide.” He exhales, head a little higher, “What is his name?”

“His name is Chanyeol Park.”

Jongin doesn’t say anything for so long that Chanyeol believes he’s fallen asleep, lulled by the dark and their breathing. He doesn’t say anything to break the silence and make sure that he is in fact asleep, instead he lays down with him, side by side. He believed they would do more than what they have done so far, but he is also content with just sleeping with Jongin in his arms. They have not slept together many times. They’ve had a few sleepovers when he lived at home and also a few here in this apartment since he started his work-experience.

As their bodies fall, Jongin gasps, and when they hit the sheets, Jongin wiggles in his arms. “You could have told me you wanted to lie down, you jerk.” Chanyeol can hear the pout in his voice.

“I thought you were asleep.” Still he kisses his forehead, but a smile overtakes his lips because although he loves Jongin, he melts in the presence of cute Jongin. It embarrasses Jongin to no end to be called cute, but what can Chanyeol do? He’s only human.

In response, Jongin moves until his mouth is on Chanyeol’s, Jongin’s tongue easily pushing in because of his surprise. Chanyeol groans as Jongin’s soft tongue maps the inside of his mouth. Jongin pushes him onto his back, climbing on top of him. A fire flares at the bottom of Chanyeol’s stomach as Jongin rocks slowly against him in tandem with sucking Chanyeol’s tongue.

A stupid thought floats in the back of Chanyeol’s mind, and he struggles to pull away and say it. He persists and finally pants against Jongin’s mouth, “Should we close the door?”

Jongin pulls back with a gasp, and Chanyeol follows, kissing his chin, hands at the small of Jongin’s back, fingers dipping under the seam of his pants. “Ohmygod! I forgot about it!” The embarrassment is evident in his voice, and Chanyeol laughs. The slap on his naked chest makes him grunt but before he can respond, Jongin continues, pout now in his voice, “Also, turn on the light. I want to see your ugly face.” Chanyeol guffaws, and this time Jongin chuckles too at the absurdity of it all.

When he comes back to the bed, eyes adjusting to the glow of the light, he realizes that Jongin has fixed up the pillows to create an incline, so he doesn’t have to lie flat on the bed. At the quirk at his eyebrow, Jongin, black hair mussed up and bottom lip in between teeth, settles back on his heels, “I still want to touch you.” His cheeks are tinting red and Chanyeol can’t help the spreading heat caused by his heart racing. He wants to kiss those red cheeks but instead waits as it seems Jongin has more to say.

“Go on, babe. What else?” His heart swells as Jongin’s sucks in a breath at the pet name. It’s exhilarating.

“I also want to hear you as I touch you,” He stares unblinking even if his cheeks are still red, and Chanyeol’s feels desire simmering beneath his skin.

“Come here. Wanna kiss you first.” Chanyeol’s back hasn’t even touched the pillows before Jongin sits astride his thighs. Even though his desire has started to boil, Chanyeol takes Jongin’s mouth as if it were a luscious fruit about to burst. His hands end up under Jongin’s ass, grip tightening as the kiss heats up in spite of him. Jongin moves in tandem with his body, melting against him. He licks past the velvet of Jongin’s lips, savoring the taste that is only Jongin and hums as he feasts on the sweetness of Jongin’s mouth with his tongue.

It's not losing control, but his emotions are the crest of a wave. Chanyeol sucks on Jongin’s tongue (Jongin groans in response, hands tightening on Chanyeol’s shoulders, and opens his mouth wider) as if he were the one who was going to fuck Jongin tonight, their spit making the slide messy and arousing. Chanyeol attempts to swallow the various noises Jongin makes, but they overflow past his lips, crawling down his spine until the sound makes his hips move. Chanyeol kisses him as if it’s the last time. He kisses him in the way that he knows will make it impossible for Jongin to be content kissing anyone else. He knows (like he’s known all his life that he would work with music) that these feelings entwining their bodies and the sounds flooding the room are unique only to them both. Together. He knows this as desire and love break in sweat from his body. These thoughts are loud in his head as Jongin pulls back to rest his forehead on his, chest heaving, eyes closed.

Jongin walks to the music building on the other side of campus. Although, the paper pass in his backpack excuses him from being late to pre cal, it weighs down on him, and it sets his mouth in a pout. He can’t help it. It’s just. That. He didn’t plan to meet up with this new kid (_Chanyeol), _right _now_. But Counselor Zhang is of the mentality of _why wait when it can be done now?_ And Jongin had not known how to respond to that sentiment so he didn’t put up a fight.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the other people standing in groups, chatting, laughing loudly, or sitting on benches without a care in the world. One pale pink girl laughs so loud that she ends up hitting her friend (a brighter pink) next to her, who lets out a loud AHHHH, and he stops in shock, shoulders drawing up to his ears, lips in a fuller pout. He takes a deep breath, ears warm as he realizes his reaction, and begins walking again before they notice him and think he has a problem with their actions, and is there to police them. He does have a problem but not to the extent to do anything about it. But they wouldn’t see it that way and would instead glare at him. He will do anything to avoid such reactions.

As he pulls open the door to the music building and steps inside, he wonders if Chanyeol will feel and act uncomfortable in his presence, and if he does, is he ready to deal with that situation?

He doesn’t have to think about it much, stomach turning, as a pale-yellow girl immediately jerks to the other side of the large hallway when she sees him. He continues his trek up the stairs to the second practice room in this building.

He hears him before he sees him, dulcet husky notes making him pause. Black eyebrows furrow in surprise. It doesn’t matter how many times he experiences listening to natural talent—the purity and honesty in the emotion of Pastels. It’s not that Achromatics or Vibrants can’t sing, but it’s that pastel vocalists have always been better.

Maybe that’s why it’s best that he goes to the Nation’s Guard. His stomach turns over at the realization.

He takes a deep breath and steps through the open-door entry.

Jongin pauses a couple steps in. The person’s—Chanyeol’s—back is to him and he swallows, nervous. He isn’t ready to be glared at for being in the art building. He doesn’t know how to announce his presence when Chanyeol continues to sing, looking out the window. Pale purple hair, almost translucent in the golden sunlight, catches his eyes as he takes Chanyeol’s height. The white long sleeve he wears is so big, draping over his back, but still accenting his broad shoulders as it cascades down. He feels like he’s intruding as raspy but pretty words stick to his skin and pile on the glass walls of his heart.

_Like destiny, falling_

_You’re calling out to me, calling_

_I can’t escape _

_Please hold me_

Jongin stands there, mortified, close to the door, thinking of a way to make his presence known without rudely interrupting Chanyeol when Chanyeol turns, eyes first opening wide in surprise as he notices Jongin. Jongin startles, and a smile spreads across Chanyeol’s face as Jongin jumps into his introduction, stumbling over his words. _(_“Counselor Zhang send me to guide you around the school.”_ Chanyeol’s smile gets, if possible, bigger.)_

They shake hands. Chanyeol’s grip envelops his own much more slender hand, and his heart in its cage relaxes slightly.

His touch is warm. Electric.

Jongin doesn’t know why he notices his twinkling eyes and his pretty, pretty teeth. Or why these images flash in his mind when he settles in to sleep that night.

Jongin starts on his Adam’s apple. A sigh escapes Chanyeol’s mouth, but when Jongin presses a kiss to it, his heart drums. As Jongin moves downward, warm breath and soft kisses leave his skin tingling. It’s an enticing feeling this breathlessness, letting his feelings overwhelm him, watching Jongin in the glow of the light, an ethereal being.

Jongin trails fingertips down his arms, on his chest, and down to his soft tummy—followed by his plush lips that leave no skin un-kissed. His huffs and whimpers various responses.

Jongin pauses at the seam of his sweats, breath teasing the skin there. The warmth of Jongin’s proximity to his crotch and his thighs kindles a fire at his core. He bites his bottom lip in the hope of keeping his impatience at bay, fingers twitching in the blanket underneath. Yet, he can’t help the stuttering plea that makes it past his lips as the heat above his clothed cock becomes unbearable. He opens his eyes (when did he close them?), and his heart hammers in his chest: deep brown eyes are staring up at him while Jongin, his Jongin, mouths at the tent in his sweatpants. When Jongin speaks, his breath stutters out; Chanyeol is so turned on, he can’t believe it.

His voice is rough, desire evident. “I’m going to take off your sweats.” Chanyeol does not answer, blood rushing in his ears and Jongin—beautiful Jongin—gives a kiss to his clothed cock. Chanyeol’s moan surprises him and his face burns. He pulls at Jongin’s hair, greedy for one kiss, and even though Jongin gives in, rising over Chanyeol’s face once more, he does not kiss him as he wants: he leaves him with a chaste kiss that does not nothing to stave off the fire now very close to his skin.

Jongin pulls down Chanyeol’s pants and his underwear as if he were handling a sweet tangerine. Chanyeol licks his lips once, twice, and bites down on his lip again in hopes of staving off the wave of lust, now that his cock has sprung to attention, but while Jongin had paid close attention to it when it was clothed, he pays it no attention now. Instead, Jongin focuses on the soft skin on the inside of his thighs, blowing on the trails of saliva he leaves as he moves down Chanyeol’s bowed legs. Legs he has complimented more than once. (_How are you still so tall when they curve just like this? So pretty._) He kisses his boney knees, paying special attention to the dips in them. Jongin smiles up at him and Chanyeol, despite the tickling sensation, rolls his eyes, and Jongin hides a laugh as well as several kisses in the curve of his shins.

Chanyeol starts to calm down from having worked up so suddenly, and he supposes it is due to all the kissing and touching they did once they hit the sheets. He lets out a soft sigh at the loving way that Jongin had touched him—his heart surges with love. Jongin always makes him feel so loved and wanted. He is definitely so lucky to have him. He wonders if Jongin can see his heart eyes from all the way down there. He peeks and his heart threatens to burst. Jongin finishes his body appreciation by kissing his ankles.

He groans from deep in his throat taken aback by the sudden mouth on him. Chanyeol had briefly entertained the idea of just kissing Jongin breathless once he came up from his ankles, but all those thoughts are out the window. He finds purchase on Jongin’s strong shoulders and the sheet underneath him. He is so lost in the feeling of Jongin’s warm mouth and fingers at the base that he startles when Jongin pushes in with a slick thumb at his rim, having gotten lube sometime during Chanyeol’s groaning. He looks down and sees Jongin’s wide eyes to discover Chanyeol already prepped. He grins wickedly, he hopes, but knowing himself it probably comes out lazily overwhelmed. It doesn’t matter, really—Jongin needs to know just how affected he is. Everything after this is a kaleidoscope of overwhelming emotions and images: Jongin’s three fingers inside him, pumping; Chanyeol’s legs spread wide as Chanyeol arches off the mattress; Jongin’s lips on Chanyeol’s bared throat; and the wave of lust at the base of his stomach. It’s delicious.

Jongin rearranges them so that he is now sitting up against the pillows while Chanyeol sinks down on his cock up to the hilt, ruddy lips open in a gasp and a whine. Jongin watches him, mouth open, as Chanyeol rolls his hips down, becoming intoxicated on the feeling of Jongin inside him. Jongin meets him with a half-thrust and leans up closer to him, and mouths against his neck, “You’re so beautiful.” All Chanyeol can do is whine in response and kiss him, more teeth and tongue than anything else. His skin is so tight and sensitive; every point where their skin brushes makes him delirious.

Jongin sucking on his collarbone and his chest does nothing but make the burn unbearable in this position so he bites Jongin’s lip in retaliation when he has the opportunity, and it’s a trigger because the next thing he knows Jongin is laying him on his back, cock slipping out, leaving Chanyeol winded and empty. “Please, please,” he finds himself mumbling. Jongin sets both of Chanyeol’s legs up on his shoulders, the stretch arousing. He is momentarily embarrassed because he’s on full display, almost bent in half, but Jongin is staring at him like he wants to devour him. It sets Chanyeol alight. The change of angle is deeper and more satisfying, and it doesn’t take Jongin long to establish a rhythm where he hits Chanyeol just right, punching groans from his throat.

It’s as devastating as the first time—not because their first time together was as good—but because of the onslaught of feelings. This time is laced with fear, but the rawness of the moment drowns it out: Jongin in between his legs. The sound of skin against skin the only sound in the room. He rocks up to meet Jongin’s thrusts, and Jongin’s vice grip on his thighs is possessive. It makes Chanyeol feel hotter than he did seconds before. He stares up at Jongin, who has his bottom lip between his teeth, and who is also watching him, cheeks flushed, strands of damp hair clinging to his forehead. It sets something off in Chanyeol. His skin is fit to burst. The feelings are becoming too intense, close to cresting. He is breathless.

When Jongin curves closer to him, spreading his thighs wider, Chanyeol’s heart skips. The angle shift is a religious experience, and Chanyeol can’t seem to stop the onslaught of moans from spilling from his lips. Not that he wants to or can think to do so. Jongin mouths at the curve between his neck and his shoulder, one of his hands on Chanyeol’s nipples, pinching. Chanyeol is coming undone as the pleasure rises with each thrust, with each caress, with each scrape of teeth, and it bursts from his mouth in a guttural moan when Jongin takes Chanyeol’s cock in his hand, stroking it twice, and on the last time rubs his thumb against the tip.

Jongin pauses as he lowers Chanyeol’s legs from his shoulders, and Chanyeol feels the soreness in them as he stretches. He feels satisfied, spent, but he stops Jongin from pulling out. He won’t say it out loud, feeling uncharacteristically shy even after what they’ve just done, but he wants Jongin to come in him. Jongin stares at him for a moment, bottom lip in between his teeth as Chanyeol spreads his legs open, baring himself to Jongin again.

Jongin kisses his knee. “Okay. Let me—just—” and then he’s walks out of the room. Chanyeol blinks, but Jongin quickly returns and cleans Chanyeol’s tummy with a warm towel. He also offers him a glass of water. Chanyeol looks at him, eyes wide. Jongin smiles at him and rolls his eyes.

When Jongin takes the glass back, he kisses Chanyeol on the forehead, “Someone has to take care of you.”

The angle is a different when Jongin starts thrusting again, slow and careful, and Chanyeol is content to lie there, murmuring encouragements against Jongin’s lips.

Jongin’s eyes lock on Chanyeol’s as his rhythm picks up, groans falling from his lips, eyebrows pinching. His thrusts are longer as he drags his cock against Chanyeol’s walls, hitting his spot softly at first and then harder. Jongin’s eyes are half-mast as he undulates his hips, pleasure close, Chanyeol can tell, and he feels hot with the realization of what Jongin is attempting to do as each thrust steals a groan from him. He gasps as he starts to feel the lick of pleasure at the bottom of his tummy again. His mouth falls open as his own orgasm starts rising.

“Fuuck,” he moans, the pleasure is bordering on painful, but he relishes in it, hands twisting in the sheets. His orgasm washes over him much slower than the first time but not less intense. Chanyeol bares his throat as he comes, raspy groans leave his throat as his cock gives a weak jerk releasing almost nothing. His tightening walls set Jongin off this time.

Chanyeol holds him, arms around Jongin as he slumps down on Chanyeol once he finally stops moving. Jongin’s chest moves fast against him as they both struggle to catch their breaths. They’re both sticky with sweat, but Chanyeol doesn’t mind as his body goes limp. He frowns when Jongin pulls out to spend a moment catching his breath next to Chanyeol. Jongin sits up, eyes full of warmth, and kisses Chanyeol on the forehead. In the afterglow, Chanyeol doesn’t really pay attention as he settles further into the sheets, ignoring the mess between his legs and the sweat on his whole body. Next thing he knows, mind languid, Jongin sits next to him and cleans him again with another towel (or the same one, who knows?). Chanyeol scrunches his face at the feeling of the towel against his skin.

Jongin flicks his nose in answer, “I have to, dummy.” And Chanyeol pouts because he wants Jongin to kiss him, and Jongin does, kissing him slow until teasingly biting his lip. Chanyeol glares up at Jongin, and Jongin laughs, kissing him on the nose, before finally finishing toweling off Chanyeol and offering him the glass of water again. Chanyeol drinks his fill.

Jongin spoons him from behind after taking the glass from him and placing it somewhere or taking it back to the kitchen; Chanyeol doesn’t know for sure because he isn’t really paying attention anymore, mind fuzzy with sleep. Jongin fits his chin to the top of Chanyeol’s head, and it is this utter comfort, with Jongin’s arms around him, that sleep is able to pull Chanyeol under. In this moment, everything is perfect.

It’s a blur, a whirlwind, how Jongin ended being this close to Chanyeol: needing him, being comfortable with him, trusting him.

He goes from stiffly showing Chanyeol around the school to meeting the many friends Chanyeol’s made since he transferred to somehow spending time with Chanyeol outside of school. It’s an unexpected, exhilarating happening.

One of these moments is the middle of a Saturday: Jongin rests his head against his backpack, an uncomfortable pillow with the prickliness of the grass against his lower back, masked slightly by the blanket Chanyeol brought with him. They were supposed to go to the closest public library to work on their different program projects, but Chanyeol had been too caught up in the softness of the day that he’d begged and whined, almost on his knees to change their destination to Two Moons Park instead. That’s a slight exaggeration but Chanyeol’s pouty pink lip had made Jongin’s heart flip and if anyone asked how they ended up at the park, Chanyeol would surely exaggerate. He knows. Chanyeol’s done it.

(“This one,” Chanyeol says to a curly pale green girl, “gave me a hard time to come to the movies.” Jongin bites his lip as the girl glares up at him, while she smiles at Chanyeol, who in turn beams at Jongin. It wasn’t that he was trying to be difficult or serious, but he was confused. Why would Chanyeol want to go to the movies with him? It made no sense for Chanyeol to want to spend time with someone like himself, who was quiet, reserved, and not fun. Chanyeol and Jongin were too different. The world thought so. He later finds out, Chanyeol wants to hold his hand, and be the shoulder he hides in—because that is another thing, Chanyeol wanted to watch an action movie with LOUD. NOISES. Jongin does his best not to hide too. He finds strange pleasure to be someone Chanyeol trusts to be there for him. It’s a new but not unwanted revelation to be needed this way.)

He combs his fingers through Chanyeol’s soft hair, his head on Jongin’s stomach, and he tries to ignore the fuzzy feeling in the middle of his chest spreading its wings as Chanyeol points up at the clouds, long fingers extended. “Look, Jongin! That looks like a whale!”

Jongin peels his eyes away from Chanyeol’s fingers, up to the bright blue sky. The whale looks like it’s mid jump, water jetting out from its back.

Another one of these defining moments is when Jongin walks Chanyeol home from another movie, and Chanyeol kisses him on the cheek before saying goodnight. Jongin feels his cheeks warm up and he stammers out a goodnight too. The fuzzy feeling takes flight in the middle of his chest when Chanyeol smiles, dimple showing, before closing the door. Jongin doesn’t know what to do—he stands there, trying to catch his breath. He touches that same cheek before going to sleep with an uncertain but happy smile on his face.

The first time they hold hands, not in the dark and not out of fear, is when Chanyeol grows impatient with him for not walking faster to his mom’s car. Chanyeol’s mom is picking them up because she’s driving them both to the music store so that Chanyeol can get the latest physical copy of his favorite band’s album. (“Jongin, why are you so slow. Come. On!”)

Jongin doesn’t tell him, at least not then, that he finds the small wrinkle between his forehead cute. An angry puppy. He doesn’t pay attention if anyone is frowning at them, for being too close and obviously friends. Their friendship is not forbidden, but it is new and strange. Pastel young people tend to hang out only with each other, and Achromatic youth do too. When he speeds up a little, it’s because Chanyeol is on the verge of stomping and not because he feels uncomfortable. Jongin never feels uncomfortable around Chanyeol. He feels the freest around him. He has yet to dissect why that is.

Later, Jongin tries to swallow the fuzzies (they’ve multiplied!) in his chest that threaten to overwhelm him because they’re in the car already, and Chanyeol has not let go of his hand. He squeezes Chanyeol’s hand, and Chanyeol looks over to him with half-moons.

Spending time at the park with Chanyeol takes part in many of the defining moments that impact and change their relationship from strangers to friends. Best friends, even. They go to the park so many times because it’s freeing. Because they can talk of nonsensical things. Because it’s just the two of them for hours. Because it’s a place where the sunlight is most present, even in the beginning days of October. It’s one of the places Jongin remembers being happiest.

A few weeks later, on a weekend, Chanyeol and him are at the park in the cool, late afternoon. However, this time Chanyeol wants to swing and asks for Jongin to push him hard on one of the swings. They argue for a bit: Jongin feels Chanyeol is too old and too big for the swings, but Chanyeol insists. Even while Jongin says it’s childish (Chanyeol is sixteen after all), he knows he’s lost this argument as Chanyeol pouts harder than ever before, eyes alight with excitement. Maybe it’s the stutter of his treacherous heart, but Jongin gives in. And his poor heart jumps in his throat when Chanyeol falls on all fours when the swing is up high in the air.

It’s not a high fall, but Jongin, with worry in his throat, helps him up, waiting as Chanyeol brushes off the wood ships from his palms and knees, and then he helps him to the nearest bench. In spite of Chanyeol’s protests, Jongin looks over his palms and knees, but when he suggests calling Chanyeol’s mom to pick them up, Chanyeol shares that he jumped off the swing— he didn’t fall because it was going too fast. He just wanted to free fall for a bit. (“Like a bird! Or a butterfly!”)

Maybe it’s the relief that trickles throughout his whole body that causes Jongin to punch Chanyeol in the arm for being reckless. It’s not even a strong punch, but Chanyeol, nevertheless, lets out a cry of surprise, and Jongin, before Chanyeol does anything else, with an equally scared heart but for different reasons, kisses him on the forehead. Mortified but determined, Jongin holds Chanyeol’s wrist, “I’m sorry.” He peeks up at Chanyeol, his breath catching at the warm look on Chanyeol’s face. His cheeks grow hot. He stands up, stretching his arms high, and breaks eye contact because he cannot deal with that look and all it might mean.

However, Jongin does walk Chanyeol home with an arm around his waist and Chanyeol’s arm around his shoulders.

Their first and only fight comes a week after this day. Jongin evades Chanyeol for a whole week after the incident in the park. He stops waiting for Chanyeol outside his classes and stops meeting Chanyeol after school. He doesn’t answer his messages on the phone or the computer. He doesn’t answer his calls. Jongin is surprised that Chanyeol doesn’t show up at his house, although he understands why. His mother isn’t fond of Chanyeol and to come to his house would be unpleasant in more ways than one for Chanyeol. Jongin isn’t sure if he is relieved or disappointed that Chanyeol hasn’t tried to talk to him at school, and on Wednesday of that week, he crushes one of his pillows to his chest as he tries to fall asleep. This should be easier, he thinks. But this is not Hapkido or running where everything unpredictable is predictable, but Jongin is trying to do what he should do for his mother. Trying to follow to make it less painful. Yet, he still feels sick to his stomach as he lies there.

He knows he can’t do this to Chanyeol forever, but he’s scared and confused. He hates the feeling he felt when Chanyeol fell off the swing. It’s dangerous to care so much when he’s going to be part of the Nation’s Guard. He won’t be around Chanyeol for five years. The thought of it is too painful to fathom, so he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t want to resent the Nation Guard more than he does. He doesn’t want to resent his Nation. But, most of all he doesn’t want to resent his mother. Jongin is surprised at this realization, but still presses these feelings tight to the back corner of his mind, but he doesn’t understand that it’s like pressing hard with his hands against a crack in a glass wall to stop water from escaping. Sooner or later, that crack will grow, and all that water will leak.

She warned him against being friends with Chanyeol a few times after introducing Chanyeol to her and his dad. (“It’s not a good idea for you to be friends with that boy, Jongin. He’s too loud, too lively. He’s a distraction. A bad influence.” Jongin stares at his food, in lieu of an answer. He’s partly thankful that she never expects him to speak because he doesn’t know what pieces of glass he would cough up if he spoke. He swallows his unexpected anger.) All Chanyeol had done was smile and ask questions. Curious and honest. His dad had been amused but polite. His mother reserved. Jongin had thought she liked Chanyeol.

Jongin doesn’t ask why she says these things, thinks these things. He’s afraid that she can see how much Chanyeol means to him already. He doesn’t want to know if her comments mean she knows of the times he was late to Hapkido Class because he was with Chanyeol and didn’t want to say goodbye. He doesn’t want her to know that he cares more about visiting a café, the park, or the library with Chanyeol than he cares about running with her on the weekends as if she were his coach. He doesn’t want to hear how he is wrong, and she is right. Cowardly, he thinks. He wrongly believes not asking is solely an act of survival, but it’s also an act of preservation. His feelings for Chanyeol are flower blossoms, growing through the cracks he’s tried hard to ignore.

It’s all these feelings that finally push Jongin to keep away from Chanyeol for a week. He figures that some time away from Chanyeol is needed. Why become friends with someone if he won’t be there for long? Or maybe he is just afraid of how much he cares about Chanyeol already? (And also, is he afraid of how Chanyeol makes him want to be brave and selfish? For them both?)

Versions of these questions race through his mind as the week crawls by. _This is bad, Jongin Kim, _Jongin thinks, sitting in pre cal class. It’s the end of the school week and he hasn’t come up with a solution. He doesn’t want Chanyeol out of his life completely. He wants him at a safe distance. _Where we don’t have to hold hands. And my heart won’t beat so fast because he’s hurt, but I can say hello and maybe do small talk. _Jongin worries his lip as he copies down the mathematical problem on the board.

Yet, does that mean that Jongin can’t be there for Chanyeol when he is startled by a loud noise in a movie? Jongin’s pencil hovers over his paper and a frown mars his forehead. It doesn’t make sense to miss Chanyeol as much as he does, Jongin thinks. He shouldn’t be pained by the thought of not having Chanyeol as close as they’ve become. He shouldn’t be hurt by his choice to give up this closeness with Chanyeol. Jongin lays his pencil down and shakes himself, breathing in slowly. He’ll do what he needs to do. It’s time to heed his mother’s advice, even if deep down he wants to do the opposite.

However, on Saturday morning, after his hour run through Two Moons, he is not prepared to see Chanyeol sitting on his favorite rock (that’s more like a small boulder) looking over the pond, located in the park’s center. It’s Jongin’s favorite place. He shared that small fact accidently with Chanyeol because Chanyeol had that (_bad!)_ effect on him, which is why he’s here, scared, stopping abruptly once he recognizes Chanyeol’s back, the soft slope of his shoulders. He swallows as he steps on one of the few leaves on the ground. It makes a crackling sound. He hopes as he takes a small step backward that Chanyeol will think it’s a squirrel and will not turn around.

His heart staccatos, and Chanyeol turns around and scrambles off the rock once he sees him. Chanyeol’s face flickers as his eyes settle on Jongin’s face. He could run, Jongin thinks desperately, looking away, anything to not deal with the look on Chanyeol’s face, but that screams _coward, _which doesn’t sit well with him, now that he’s here. Jongin doesn’t run and, instead, waits. For what, he’s not sure. He’s surprised by his own emotions—his sudden fear of Chanyeol’s disappointment in him and the hurt he’s caused him. Because now that he is this close to Chanyeol, Jongin understands that he’s acted cowardly—hiding, evading, and ignoring Chanyeol instead of telling him he won’t spend time with him anymore. He swallows as he finally meets Chanyeol’s dark, brown eyes after a week. Chanyeol is much closer now, and Jongin’s breath catches.

Jongin doesn’t know if it’s the shade overhead from the trees that are hiding the warmth from Chanyeol’s eyes, because he can’t tell what the look is in Chanyeol’s eyes. Maybe, just maybe, Jongin thinks worryingly, he won’t need to say anything. Maybe Chanyeol will be the one to push him away.

However, the words that Chanyeol says, startle him, “Were you really going to walk away without saying anything?”

Jongin doesn’t know what his face is doing right now, but Chanyeol’s eyes are digging into his. Searching? He has no answer to that question, but he realizes that he doesn’t want to lie to Chanyeol. Jongin stops biting the inside of his cheek. “Yes,” he exhales and a weight he was unaware of lifts. If this is the end of their friendship, Jongin won’t lie to Chanyeol.

“Why?” And just like that Chanyeol face is once again an open book. Jongin is overwhelmingly surprised by the amount of hurt he can see on Chanyeol’s face. The questions in his eyes are numerous. Jongin follows the movement of Chanyeol’s hand as it combs his pale purple hair back, leaving his face unprotected. His heart beats painfully, and he wants to leave to not have this conversation right now, today. But, maybe if he tells Chanyeol the truth, it will be easier to walk away.

“Because I’m scared. I’m scared of being your friend,” the look of hurt on Chanyeol’s face intensifies, and it forces him to continue because he doesn’t want to cause Chanyeol any needless pain. “That I won’t know how to be a good friend because…” It wasn’t until now that the reasons are clear as Chanyeol’s eyes don’t stray away from his face. While he may not want to let his mother down, and he wants to make her proud, she makes him feel powerless. She has given him tools to keep his body protected but playing it safe has never been enough on the mat. Why would it be enough in everyday life?

But Chanyeol gives being part of the Guard meaning. At the forefront, then, the thought he shoved behind cracked walls is visible, and the crack spreads, but instead of water, there are hundreds of wild blossoms. Unrestrained. Cutting Chanyeol out of his life is impossible because Chanyeol is already important to him. For the first time, Jongin doesn’t want to follow a routine—instead he wants to see where these blossoming feelings for Chanyeol take him. Take them.

It must show on his face because Jongin gasps as Chanyeol takes a step toward him and pulls Jongin into his chest, strong arms tangle around him. His heart beats loud, in fear and yearning, but he hears Chanyeol whisper into his shoulder, “Jongin Kim as long as you want to be my friend, everything is okay. You don’t have to hide from me.”

And Jongin’s poor stuttering heart is a tired butterfly. Vulnerable. Jongin doesn’t want to give up this friendship. He doesn’t want to give up Chanyeol’s presence in his life, even if it’s selfish and not the right thing.

Jongin, too, wraps his arms around Chanyeol, and he feels Chanyeol shaking. His butterfly heart steadies because if Chanyeol can be brave in the face of the unknown, then Jongin can too.

(A couple days later, a cool afternoon, his mom questions why he’s spending time with Chanyeol again. It could be an innocuous question, but it’s accompanied with a dissatisfied look and harsh lines at the sides of her mouth.

They had been sitting in surprising but peaceful silence: she at the living room table drawing in her sketchbook, and Jongin lying on the sofa, reading, defenses down.

Jongin puts the book pages down on his lap when he sits up and takes a deep breath, thoughts in disarray and heart familiarly afraid. “He’s my friend, mom. I am not going to push him away.” He wants to say more, but her eyes have clouded, the lines at the sides of her mouth have set. He knows from experience that if he keeps talking, he’ll regret how he feels, and he doesn’t want to regret anything.

Hapkido has taught him to anticipate possible attacks to minimize the pain. He stands up, and she doesn’t say anything, even though her eyes follow him. It feels like a small victory, even though his confidence is a brittle water glass.)

Six months later, Chanyeol drives them to the nearest beach, two hours away. Chanyeol had been able to get his license half a year before turning eighteen because of the couple driving classes he’d taken.

Yet, it isn’t this that makes his mother frown when Jongin asked her for permission to go with Chanyeol, but she ends up giving in, after a moment of silence, eyes focused on him. Jongin does not look away. She has him promise to call her when they make it to the beach. Even as it’s become clearer that Chanyeol is a permanent fixture in Jongin’s life, she resists Chanyeol and Jongin’s friendship. Maybe she can now see Jongin’s unmeasurable affection for Chanyeol bordering on something else. Perhaps, she’s worried that since he’ll have to leave in a little over a year that it’ll be harder for him to pack up and say goodbye to his life. In that instance, Chanyeol is not a distraction but a deterrent. Jongin doesn’t think he could explain to her, that Chanyeol is motivation, a grounding force. A choice among a life full of non-choices. He does not even understand the depth of his own feelings, but he’s done fighting them. (Maybe this is what Hapkido had been trying to teach him, but he’d always see it as an extension of his mother. He could not see it through positive eyes.)

Jongin doesn’t acknowledge these unknown feelings as he stuffs his sandals, his towel, a change of clothes, and his pajamas into his backpack. The snacks he is bringing with him are in the kitchen. Chanyeol wants them to watch their first sunsets and sunrises together, to sit on the sand together in that hour when the first sun goes down and the sky is painted in pinks, oranges, and yellows as the second sun, much smaller than the first, follows behind, kissing the moon goodnight as it lazily rises into the sky.

Ever since Jongin shared with him that he’d been chosen by the Council to be part of the Guard, Chanyeol has been into doing every sort of activity with him. When Jongin asked why, outside of Chanyeol’s house as they strapped on their helmets and elbow and knee pads to ride their bikes to Two Moons, Chanyeol looked at him with big, brown eyes overwhelmingly earnest, “I didn’t know you when you used your first skates or tossed your first ball. I wasn’t here when you first played tag or when you got your first big boy shot; I want to have all these memories with you, Jongin Kim, because you won’t be with me for a long time. I deserve to have all of these moments because, I’m sorry—I know I said I wouldn’t talk about it,” As Chanyeol listed these moments, Jongin knew clearly, if for a moment, what the fuzziness in his chest was. It was like having a butterfly in the palm in his hand, steady even as it fluttered its wings before it took off. But at the mention of the Guard, shattered glass sat in the pit of his stomach.

And that had been surprising too, when Jongin’s eyes had gotten watery when he first shared that he would be leaving in early September, in a little over a year, Chanyeol had not judged him—he had not shushed him or left him alone like Taemin had, with the fear of being deemed an unworthy. After making-up in the park, the walls Jongin had been taught to set up just weren’t there anymore. Jongin trusted him in ways he could not trust Taemin. Chanyeol had hugged him and while Jongin didn’t cry, he hugged Chanyeol hard, pulling at his shirt, because for the first time he didn’t feel like he was suffocating under his mother’s expectations.

As Chanyeol continued, Jongin tried to swallow that painful truth, “But I want to have all these memories so that when I miss you and want to share things with you, I’ll have these moments that no one can take from m—” Jongin tackle hugged him, cutting Chanyeol’s words short, dropping the knee pads he held. He giggled out loud.

“You’re so embarrassing!” He attempted to pull Chanyeol into a headlock, careful not use any moves he learned throughout the years. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt him. However, Chanyeol did not have the same restraints. Jongin was very much surprised when Chanyeol was the one on top, elbows bracketing his head, and he was the one on his back with his wrists in between Chanyeol’s large hands.

He had never been this aware of his body. It was perplexing. His heart roared, and his blood rushed in his ears. Chanyeol’s eyes were the vast expanse of galaxies threatening to capture Jongin, but Jongin was a willing prisoner because although he was confused by his reaction, he tried to hold on to this feeling of exhilaration, of swooping joy and breathlessness.

He’d never seen such beautiful sparkling eyes before this moment. Chanyeol’s smile threatened to overtake his face, and Jongin was a butterfly fluttering in the palm of Chanyeol’s hand.

Chanyeol wakes up to Jongin on his side, legs tangled in his, and his soft eyes on him, gently tracing the lines of his face. His love is a supernova, expanding from the middle of his chest to the tip of his toes, reaching out to Jongin in murmurs and sighs. He’s aware that they should get up, get a start on the day because their time together is coming to an end, yet, he continues to lie there, watching, gazing, memorizing. Jongin smiles at him as he takes a hold of Chanyeol’s hand. Jongin is overwhelming.

Jongin laces his sun-kissed fingers between Chanyeol’s lighter ones, forehead wrinkled in careful concentration, and Chanyeol turns to him, tucking his other hand beneath his head. Their time might be coming to an end, but their remaining time should not be rushed.

Jongin brings up their joined hands to his lips and kisses Chanyeol’s palm. “I want you to come drop me off too.”

Chanyeol can’t help his response, his eyes widen, surprise clear on his face. He will not ask Jongin if he’s sure because Jongin wouldn’t be saying anything if he wasn’t sure. He will also not say anything about Mrs. Kim’s expected response to his presence. Instead, a heartbeat later, Chanyeol surges forward and kisses Jongin, tangling his arms around him, “Okay.”

They lie there in the fresh sunlight cascading through the gap in the curtains. Jongin hugs him tight, head tucked into his neck, and breathes into his chest. It’s bittersweet. Jongin’s presence a rose with thorns. Chanyeol arms tighten around Jongin, and although he doesn’t say it aloud, he memorizes the warm weight of Jongin in his arms, the slow rise of his breathing, his feathery hair under his chin, and warm breath over his heart. When he’s alone at night, tired from the day, from the never-ending trials of life, he wants to be able to think back to this moment and remember, in spite of everything, the absolute completeness he feels. The love he feels for Jongin Kim.

On their way out (Chanyeol wants to take Jongin to his favorite breakfast place, where Jongin once again won’t worry about his diet), they run into Jongdae, who is waiting for them on the sofa. Jongdae is mainly waiting for Jongin, Chanyeol knows, and while he is not surprised, Jongin is. However, the smile on his face, when Jongdae hugs him and wishes him a safe journey, is blinding and devastating.

When Jongin knocks on the Kims’ green door, Chanyeol straightens his back and schools his face to show no trepidation or fear. He remembers the two times he’s been here, in front of this door, the first time he’d been excited, ready to make a good impression. The second time he’d been apprehensive, aware that he hadn’t caused the impression he wanted. And now, he’s ready to be the support Jongin needs because, in the end, that’s all he wants to be. He squeezes Jongin’s hand when Jongin glances back at him. This is the same hand that Jongin held onto as they walked through Two Moons after they finished eating. Jongin wanted one last moment to see the wild trees. The trees’ green leaves are now ripened yellows and reds. Chanyeol wonders when that happened. The leaves were just yesterday vibrant green, but now they’ve metamorphosed. Time gone in a blink of an eye. These big trees, some thin and other stocky, are what make this park so popular. A small forest blanket separating nature from society’s rules. A little piece of freedom in the middle of the city.

Jongin and Chanyeol ended their walk at the pond, the same pond the two of them had stood by while Chanyeol coaxed Jongin into remaining his friend. Jongin wanted one last moment to feel the wind on his face, to feel the calm he felt in this silent and busy place.

“I’m never alone here.” Jongin shared once, sitting on a big rock with Chanyeol, close to the pond. They had ended here after a riding their bikes through the park. Since then Chanyeol had wondered if Jongin had referred to the people running along the path, the happy shrieks of children, or if he meant the fluttering leaves overhead and the rippling dark water. It didn’t matter really—it was serene and beautiful nevertheless.

Jongin’s mother opens the door, and Chanyeol expects a protest or a glare at the very least when she notices him behind Jongin. Instead, she and Jongin share a look, and although he tries not to stare, she catches him looking when she takes a step outward, opening the door wider to allow them both in. Jongin pulls at his hand, and Chanyeol follows, glancing briefly at Mrs. Kim. For the first time since he’s known Jongin, her face is unguarded and open. It makes crossing the threshold into Jongin’s house less daunting. One less thing for them to carry.

It is heartbreak to hug and kiss Jongin goodbye at the bus station. It is heartbreak to see Jongin climb onto the wide gray and white bus, black back-pack in tow, with many other Achromatics. Chanyeol distantly notices that there were also a few Metallics. He tries to keep his face impassive, open for when Jongin looks back at him before he goes on the bus or looks out through the window. But it is hard. So hard.

Mrs. Kim’s hand on his shoulder was weightless, a falling leaf.

Over a year ago, at the beach, Chanyeol is the one who makes the first move. Going to the beach isn’t only part of Chanyeol’s plan to create as many memorable moments with Jongin, but it is also a way to get a start on the summer because once it ends, Chanyeol will be moving into an apartment (he’ll share it with a roommate) and working in a work-experience job. They will have less time to spend together since Chanyeol will be a city away.

They arrive at the beach a little after two, where there are a few people milling around. Jongin feels relieved, his anxiety lessened, because this means less eyes on them. Less judgement of their friendship as people from different hair classes. He also has less to worry about, less to think about, like what these people expect of him as a raven.

Before arriving at the beach, they stopped at the small but homey motel, five minutes away. It reminded Jongin of a cottage, even when it was golden yellow with a burnt-orange roof, although he’d never stayed at one. Jongin felt an unwanted bubble of panic tickle his throat as they crossed through the motel doors. This panic had partially to do with what people would think of them being here together at the motel (unnatural were some of the words his mind supplied), and it had a lot to do with sharing a room with Chanyeol, even though Chanyeol told him days ago that he booked them a room with two queen beds. The reality of sleeping in the same room with Chanyeol was causing the bees, not butterflies, in his stomach to take flight. Still, he felt he was being ridiculous. Sleeping in the same room, _how hard could it be? _

Jongin was zen. Jongin was okay.

Jongin was not zen. Jongin was not okay. His hard-earned peace was nowhere in sight. Jongin had been learning lately that none of his training in Hapkido helped him when dealing with Chanyeol Park. So, sleeping in the same room with Chanyeol was probably not hard at all, but he made the mistake of sharing with Taemin their weekend plans when Taemin invited him over to his house on the weekend. “Oooh, you guys are going on a date. How cute.” Taemin smirked at him. Jongin was too relieved by this joking response to take offense because Taemin had been distrustful of Chanyeol when these two met.

Since the trip was not a date, everything should have been normal. However, knowing this and believing this were two opposite things, and it made him more nervous than he should have been. Would he have been nervous without Taemin’s awful insight? Of course. But would he have been this nervous without Taemin’s awful insight? Jongin would like to think not. 

Jongin made an effort to remember that this is Chanyeol, as the person across the counter handed them their keys and (surprisingly) wished them a pleasant stay. He had nothing to fear from Chanyeol. The only person he had to worry about was himself. With that thought, Jongin steeled himself as they exited the office and walked to their room. He vowed to explore these confusing feelings in greater depth once he got back home and willed himself to be as present as he could in this moment with Chanyeol. 

Jongin stands back as Chanyeol spreads out the blanket on the white sand. He shivers as the cool air bites at his face and his arms. It’s not even that cold, but it surprises him.

“You good?” Chanyeol calls from where he is sitting on the blanket, long legs extended.

Jongin smiles down at him, “Yeah.”

The place they chose to sit is a little closer to the water than the other people at the beach. This is maybe why the air feels cooler, water in the breeze. Jongin hears a faint cry as he is about to sit and turns to see two children chasing each other on the other end of the beach. Chanyeol and him may not be alone but the crashing of the waves as they meet the sand are enough to mute everyone around them, making it feel as if he is truly alone with Chanyeol. It’s such soothing white noise. On the other end of the beach, Jongin spots a small, pink-pastel girl building a sand castle with her silver haired mom. Jongin can’t help smiling, and he smiles wider when Chanyeol also spots the same girl.

“I should have brought a bucket.” Chanyeol pouts at him.

Jongin struggles not to show how cute he finds him. “But you did bring one!” Jongin side bumps him as he sits down and nods toward the bucket among their waters, snacks, towels, and sandals.

“I meant a bigger one.”

Jongin laughs and jokingly suggests, “You could always ask if you could borrow it.”

It’s no surprise when Chanyeol and him are later building a castle alongside the little, pale-pink girl, Lizzy, and her aunt (not her mom, as Jongin had assumed). Jongin had been hesitant at first, thinking he would not be welcomed, but when Lizzy held out her hand to him, he could not refuse. Her aunt, Ella, smiled from where she knelt, carefully adding details to one of the towers with one of her fingers. He took that as her being okay with him participating, and he squatted down next to Chanyeol who was busy packing down some sand in his small red bucket.

When Lizzy and Ella leave, Jongin and Chanyeol relocate to their spot so they can sit next to their big sand castle decorated with different sized sea shells. Chanyeol, Lizzy, and Ella had been the ones who endured the cold water in search of them as the waves washed all kinds onto the shore. There is also a long stick on the highest tower, courtesy of the one and only Chanyeol Park.

(“Why are you laughing? It’s a flag! Right, Lizzy?” When Lizzy looked at him with a frown, Jongin swallowed his giggles and shared a smile with Ella.)

Chanyeol has already snapped several pictures of the castle on his phone, before and after Lizzy and Ella left, and now sits back, leaning on his elbows, visibly relaxed. Jongin forgot his phone at the hotel, but it doesn’t faze him. He’ll be sure to remember the breathtaking beauty before him: the translucent blue water, the thick, white foam as the waves near the shore, the blueness of the sky, and the light of the suns: the warm light of the yellow, bigger sun and the pink-red, fainter light of the smaller sun. It would be hard not to. He feels an ache in the middle of his chest, longing to paint a watercolor of this once he gets the chance because, while he has accepted the finality of being part of the Guard, he has also learned to hold onto his art. Chanyeol’s interest in it had revived and helped Jongin maintain his enthusiasm for it to the extent that he tried to create it weekly.

Both Chanyeol and Jongin have their shoes off, toes buried in the sand, as they sit watching the never-ending waves crash onto shore, because _what’s the point of coming to the beach if you don’t feel the sand between your toes?_ That’s what Chanyeol said when Jongin shook his head when he first suggested it.

“Oh my god,” Jongin exclaims once he feels the cool air on the bottom of his feet. He almost swears when his feet touch the cold sand. “Wow. We sure picked a good time to come to the beach.”

“Heey, it’s May. Stop exaggerating.” Chanyeol’s eyes sharpen and there’s a smirk at the corner of his mouth; Jongin feels tiny and exposed.

“We can hug?”

Jongin looks away, pretending not to hear. If it sounds like Chanyeol is chuckling under his breath next to him, Jongin ignores him.

It takes Jongin a little time to adjust. Honestly, Jongin doesn’t know how Chanyeol does it. He hadn’t seemed affected when he touched the water, and he hasn’t put his sneakers back on since he took them off. It seemed like he had fire in his veins. He tells Chanyeol that.

“I don’t know. I guess I like the cold.”

Jongin shivers again and laughs. “Alright, Elsa.”

Honestly, Chanyeol has the worst ideas. First, naughtily offering to hug him and now this--“You’re bad for me. The water is freezing, Chanyeol!”

Chanyeol pulls him in deeper, “Calm down, Jongin. What’s the point of coming to the beach if yo—”

“Don’t say it. Oh my god!” Jongin tries to back away from the incoming wave, pulling against Chanyeol’s grip until Chanyeol lets him go. The waves didn’t seem to be this big when he started walking into the water after Chanyeol. He can’t even appreciate how blue the water looks, because it’s so cold, and this one crashes into his knees. He rolled his jeans up to his shins. “I just wet my pants.”

Chanyeol lets out a snort when he turns to look at him, dimples on full display.

Jongin should not have splashed him with water. It’s just that he felt slightly panicked with the onslaught of emotions as he looked at Chanyeol: beautiful in the breeze and smiling. So, he reacted and now his hair is more wet than it should be because Chanyeol is unforgiving. Always giving back what he receives, be it a hug or a splash of very cold water. Ice cold.

His teeth are shattering. Also, his shirt and pants are more wet than he would like, sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Jongin wants to stomp when he gets out onto the sand but settles for getting as far away as he can from the water. Before he can sit on the blanket, Chanyeol catches up to him, and at Jongin’s glare puts up his hands in apology, at least that’s how Jongin takes it. In spite of his indignation, his heartbeat races when he takes in the sight of wet Chanyeol. Some lilac strands of his hair droop onto his face. His black shirt annoyingly clings to his torso and his _arms_. Jongin looks away before Chanyeol notices, which is why he startles when Chanyeol drops a towel over him.

“Let’s take a picture.” Chanyeol says once Jongin has stopped shivering.

He protests at first, enjoying more than he should Chanyeol’s pleading, full lip, but he relents because Chanyeol is right: in time, this will be a fun memory.

They watch the first sun go down, Chanyeol’s enthusiasm is breathtaking.

“Look at the sky! Look how pretty it looks!” Chanyeol points to the blushing sky tinted with different shades of pinks, yellows, and blues. The smaller sun a faint pink dot in the sky. Jongin barely glances at it, still more captivated by Chanyeol's blinding smile than the sky and the sun, and his breath catches when Chanyeol turns to him when he fails to respond.

“Yeah,” Jongin clears his throat, looking away to the sky, “It’s beautiful.” He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them underneath the towel. He senses movement to the side of him, Chanyeol sitting up or something. He’s too self-conscious to look at him again and instead holds on tighter to his legs.

He startles when Chanyeol’s hand touches his cheek. There’s a flustered retort at the tip of his tongue when Chanyeol turns Jongin’s head to look up at him. He feels the blood pooling in his cheeks and tries to look away, but Chanyeol doesn’t let go.

“Jongin, please don’t hide from me.” Chanyeol pauses, eyes searching his face, and Jongin feels like he did when he was five and jumped off the swing in his backyard wanting to touch a butterfly.

Chanyeol lowers his hand. “Aa-nd you can push me away if I’m wrong…”

Chanyeol’s pretty eyes are wide and a little panicked.

After falling, Jongin’s knee had been bloody, and his mother had used rubbing alcohol to disinfect it before putting a Band-Aid over it. She told him not to cry. _Ravens never cry._ She also asked why he did it. What had been thinking? He could have hurt himself worse. Jongin had known that saying he wanted to know what it felt like to fly was not the answer she wanted. _Useless risks_ was her favorite way of chastising him as a child.

“I think there is something more between us than just friendship,” Chanyeol finishes, eyes still focused on Jongin’s face.

The towel is forgotten as Jongin takes a deep breath, trying to think. His cheeks are too warm. His body is too warm. He’s sure Chanyeol can feel them, and he feels like a water glass spilling water over the edge. Overwhelmingly full.

He briefly thinks that he should take a walk, give himself time to work through what he wants, but as he blinks, taking in Chanyeol’s, once again, unguarded face, he knows he doesn’t have to think. He knows what the fuzzy feeling is that takes flight in the middle of his chest every time he looks at Chanyeol. But, knowing and talking don’t necessarily go hand in hand for him. Words at the best of times are difficult to come by to express his thoughts when he’s put so much effort to hide and separate from them. In this moment, he truly has no words worth saying, but he thinks pressing his lips to Chanyeol’s might communicate what he feels.

Unplanned, unguarded, and reckless.

Jongin surges up, the towel sliding off his shoulders, and presses his lips to Chanyeol’s soft mouth. Hesitant and scared, but also hopeful. 

Jongin didn’t think he could become more overwhelmed, but he is startled by the force with which Chanyeol returns the kiss, hands sliding down to grip his shoulders. It’s more staggering than the ocean’s waves.

After a while when he can’t take it anymore. He hides his flaming face in Chanyeol’s shoulder while he feels a kiss in his hair. It helps him center himself and listen beyond the blood in his ears. “We have to talk about this.” He nods into Chanyeol’s shoulder, and Chanyeol laughs in response. It doesn’t matter that he’ll see less of Chanyeol once summer is over because Chanyeol will be working hard teaching music to young children, exploring if this could be something he wants to learn more of once he’s nineteen. It doesn’t matter that it’s taken them almost a year to get here because Jongin realizes that as long as he can have Chanyeol’s affection then he doesn’t really mind that Chanyeol laughs at him. It doesn’t matter if it hurts to say goodbye as long as Chanyeol holds him like this when they’re together. It doesn’t matter as long as he can hold on to this tiny, fragile fluttering feeling that has taken home in the middle of his chest since he met Chanyeol.

Jongin doesn’t mind being vulnerable as long Chanyeol is there to catch him because Chanyeol like Jongin believes jumping off a swing is a good attempt to fly. Perhaps reckless, but worth it. It’s just taken Jongin a little longer to remember it’s okay to fly in spite of bloody knees and scraped palms.

He kisses Chanyeol again, and the tiny, fragile feeling is a butterfly fluttering down onto an open hand.

**Author's Note:**

> hiii, if you made it this far, thank you for your time. Please comment. I want to hear your thoughts~


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